Message-ID: <35897asstr$1017234602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "she_cries" <maggotuk@hotmail.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2002 04:21:19 EST
Subject: {ASSM} Hermione Awakens 1 {she cries} (mf, nc)
Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2002 08:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

            Hermione woke from a long, heated dream, flashes of being
handled, passed from man to man through a crowd of faceless bodies, every
inch of her being caressed gently, with hot, velvet fingertips.  Her pulse
throbbing in her veins she threw off the covers and sat up, panting, shocked
to find a chill blast as her fifteen-year old sweat covered body was pelted
with the icy night air.

            "Where is my dressing gown" she thought to herself, pulling the
sheets up to cover herself, but in the dark she could see only the dim
outline of the window.  Collecting her senses she recalled that she was
alone in a spare dormitory in the Hogwarts dungeon.

            Neville Longbottom had mis-aimed a spell he had been practicing
in the Gryffindor common room and the Canary cream he had been trying to
dispel had swollen to gargantuan heights.  It was not a problem for
Professor McGonnegal to disintegrate the great rolling masses of enchanted
cream that kept covering students with yellow feathers at the slightest
contact, but cleaning the common room from the mounds of custard that filled
half of the Gryffindor dormitories would take several days, even with magic.
Hermione grimaced at the thought of the house-elves being forced to labor at
the task "Neville should have to clean it up by himself."

            She pushed open her curtain, revealing the "window" she had
remembered half-asleep-which was merely a painting of a lake view from one
of the high towers, the moon shining fully over the sparkling water, a cool
breeze flowing from the magical waters.  She shivered, remembering that she
had let the fire go out, insisting that no house elves be made to labor on
her part.

            This was also why she was sleeping alone.  Her bunkmates would
have nothing to do with Hermione's squeamishness, so she was forced to sleep
alone, in an unheated dungeon apartment down the hall from the rest of the
fourth year girls.  "It's just as well" Hermione snorted "I won't have
anything to do with slave labor."  But guiltily she regretted the fading
embers of the fire, there was no more wood to put on it, and the nearest
stack was out in the hall.

            Though she could see a thin seam of lantern light through the
door to her chamber, she could hardly see anything on the floor of her
chamber, much less the wood-pile or her wand, so she could relight the fire
and go back to sleep.

            A shiver overcame her for a moment, and she clutched her arms to
her chest, startled by the touch of skin, pearls of sweat dripping between
her tiny breasts, her pouting nipples erect and sensitive in the cold breath
of the dungeons.

            Shivering again, but not with the cold, she apprehensively ran
her hands down under the covers, gathered at her waist.

Nothing.  Not a stitch.

She felt around in bed, but she knew she would find nothing.  Her bedclothes
had vanished.

"Don't panic.  There's no reason to be worried." She told herself, wondering
deep inside if she was only kidding herself.

Reaching down she tugged the blanket up, to wrap over her shoulders, but
discovered that they wouldn't come off the bed.  She could wrap them around
her, but no amount of force would get them to come away from the foot of the
bed where they appeared to have been nailed in place.

".or magicked." She whispered aloud, wondering if this had anything to do
with her vanishing nightgown.

Willfully she threw off the covers and slid out of the bed, gasping abruptly
as the sudden icy chill of the cold, stone floor shot up through her legs,
and the deep cold of the Winter night assaulted her on all sides.  Gasping
she stood her ground, arms clutched around her tightly until the shock had
passed.

Her eyes had adjusted to the light, and in the dim, pale blue light of the
moon-painting she made her way to the wardrobe, where she had thrown her
haversack the night before, so she could get one of her school robes, her
wand, and get to the bottom of everything.

"Well, you're an attractive young thing." A soft, yet piercing feminine
voice floated across the room.

Hermione froze, her heart thumped in a sudden, painful leap against her
breast, and the pit of her stomach seemed to fill with molten lead.  Right
in front of her stood a figure, equally nude, shivering, arms clutched as
hers were, but a wry grin, and a cocked eyebrow appraised her invasively.
She realized this was a reflection of herself.

Relief flooded over her, "Mirror, keep your comments to yourself."

Her mirror image just smiled wider, "There's no reason to be ashamed, a girl
your age should count herself lucky to have a body like that."

"I'm not interested in this discussion."  Hermione retorted then thinking
for a moment added, "Where did you come from.  There wasn't a mirror on this
wardrobe last night."

"I'm a moon mirror.  I only appear under the light of the moon, but I saw
you."  Hermione's reflection ran a probing hand down its ribs, sending a
shiver at the real 14 year-old girl. "Ooh, Goosebumps."

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, reached for the wardrobe handle, and
realized that it wasn't there.  "How do I open the door."

"You can't.  Not while I'm here."

"Well, would you pardon me, I need to get a robe, I'm freezing."

"I don't have much control in that department, you need to turn on a light,
but I wish you wouldn't."

Hermione, scowling, restrained herself from stomping her foot on the floor.
"But I'm freezing!  What happened to my nightgown?"

The mirror smiled, and Hermione thought she imagined a faint shade of
crimson flicker across the mirror, "What do you expect when you sleep in a
lovers' bed?"

Hermione was dumbstruck, "A. A what?" she stammered out.

The mirror smiled at Hermione.  She embarrassingly felt that it would reach
out and pat her on the shoulder if it could.

"I was wondering why you were alone in there.  There's a cabinet behind
 you."

Hermione turned and tried to see what the mirror was gesturing at in the
gloom.

The mirror continued with a barely suppressed giggle, "Maybe there's
something in there."

Hermione stumbled through the room until her hand fell on the cabinet,
recessed into the stone wall she wondered why she hadn't seen it before.
She opened the small door, and took a sharp breath as it swung open
revealing a floor length opening in the wall.

"Is this whole room magical?"

"Only for young ladies."

Hermione swung around, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Her mirror image batted it's eyelashes innocently, "Oh, nothing.  Oh, looks
like just your size."

"What?"  Hermione asked, then following her reflection's gaze she turned to
the wall opening.

Revealed, almost glowing in its own light, was a long, shimmering,
translucent robe, barely a wisp of fabric, and completely see-through.  Her
mouth fell open as she saw, as if worn by an invisible mannequin, a
jet-black corset, strapless and waist deep floating under the robe.  Equally
surprising was a pair of silk panties, sheer with thin straps for sides,
suspended underneath, only slightly less transparent than the robe.

"I'm not wearing this."

"It's quite warm, I've heard tell," the mirror subtly prodded.

"Is there a torch in here?" Hermione spun around, refusing to look at the
lingerie.

"There might be one out in the hall."

Hermione cursed to herself.  She couldn't possibly go out there in the nude.
Prefects and teachers were patrolling the halls, looking for students out of
bed, not to mention Mr. Filch and his despicable cat, Mrs. Norris.  Oh, if
only she hadn't had to put Crookshanks in the kennel for the move.

"You could always call a house-elf, I suppose." The mirror tittered,
giggling to itself.

Hermione scowled, "Shut up!" but a cold breeze stirred, and she shivered in
spite of her attempts not to.  "Well," she thought, "I could always put on
the robe.  It's better than being naked."

But when she reached for the robe her hand passed right through it.  She
found her hand touching the rigid side of the corset, icy metal grommets
running under her fingers like silver pearls.

"Why can't I touch the robe?"

"One thing at a time, dearie.  Everything in its proper place, and order."

Hermione knew instinctively what this meant.  First the underwear, then the
robe.  But that meant she would have to put on what were assuredly magical
garments, and she had no reason to trust anything in this room.

But subtly, almost imperceptibly at first, she felt a cradle of warmth
around her hand.  She realized that where her fingers passed the intangible
robe, they were not cold.

"That's the spirit, dear-heart.  Go ahead, it won't hurt you."

Hermione clenched her teeth, "Will you shut up!"

Her reflection only giggled in reply.

"If I'm going to do this, I might as well just do it."

She hooked one finger under the panties and whatever spell was supporting
them vanished, they fell limply in her fingers.  Warmth cradled her numb
fingertips.  She had to turn them over four times to figure out what way
they went on, but eventually concluded that they had no crotch pad, no
seams, and the only difference between front and back was that the back was
very slightly wider.

Sliding her legs into them Hermione felt an odd tingle rising up her spine,
and the near ecstasy of warmth that seemed to radiate from the strange
silken underwear.  Hiking them up to cradle her young sex, a deep warmth
penetrated her, a creeping tingle riding the back of her neck, and for a
long moment she stood there mesmerized, until the icy night air found her
legs, her back and arms, and she reached, with just a bit less apprehension
for the corset.

She determined quickly that she would have to step into it, although it only
covered her from waist to breast.  Contact with the garment, however, gave
no warm sensation, and no anticipation of. whatever it was, but she was
determined to have the robe.

A glance at the mirror reminded her that she was not exactly alone, and she
felt vulnerable and very small under her own leering gaze.

She stepped into the corset, but no tingles greeted her.  She hiked it over
her narrow hips, up past her waist, then, up to her chest, where to her
surprise it began to tighten, constricting to her sides, forming the shape
of her budding breasts, causing hot tingles through her hard, puffy nipples
which seemed to cascade through her chest and down her spine.

Feeling the gaze of the mirror she suppressed a very satisfied sigh, and
roughly grabbed at the robe, which fell into her hand, startling her even
more than not being able to touch it had.

It was nearly weightless, like a spider web.  The lightest thing she had
ever held, and practically invisible.  It took her no effort to find the
sleeve, and she pulled it around her, and wondered for a moment if it had
disintegrated around her, so little could she feel it, but the sudden, and
abrupt glow of warmth that enveloped her left her no doubt.  The mirror had
not lied.  Not about the heat at least.

Seeing herself now in the mirror (who was positively basking in the pleasure
of the undergarments) she seemed to positively radiate light.  No longer in
a dim, gloomy chamber, she could see herself very clearly.  Clad in a woman'
s lingerie she could barely believe her eyes.  With her recently shrunken
teeth, a whole year without acne, and her newly budding breasts, it occurred
to her for the first time that she was no longer a little girl.

"I'm going to knock Victor Krum's socks off at the Yule Ball.  Ron'll be
gnashing his teeth when he sees me.  That's what he gets for not asking me.
Oh, I wish he was here now."

A sudden horror grappled with her, and she realized the train of thoughts
that were coursing through here.

"No!"  She started pulling at the robe, "No way!"

A peal of laughter, like glass breaking erupted from her reflection, "I
wouldn't do that if I were you dearie."

"And why not?"  Hermione scrambled to find the opening down the front of the
robe, but realized that she was only running her hands up and down her
chest.

"Honey, once you've put them on, they won't come off until you've spent the
night in the lover's bed."  Hermione stood agape, but the mirror went on,
"Or you could."

"Could what?"  She did not want to be found in bed wearing this outfit in
the morning when wake-up call came around.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of mentioning it."

"Could what!?" Hermione pressed.

Her reflection looked up at her coyly, "Well, it involves a man."

A long moment passed, where Hermione just stared at herself in the mirror.
The she abruptly turned and started turning the room over.

"Where's a light.  I've had enough of listening to you.  There's got to be a
light in here somewhere!"

Then she realized it, and kicking herself for the fool she'd been, she saw
the crack of lamplight under the door to her room.  She grinned at the
mirror, saw her own face drop, but she felt the smile across her real lips.
She took two long strides to the door and swung it open, light flooding the
chamber and dazzling her.

The satisfaction was momentary though.  The abrupt disappearance of the
mirror served as little comfort as the eyes of Draco Malfoy and a sprightly,
young second year Hufflepuff girl raked up and down her body, taking in the
exotic apparel.  It was clearly all Draco could do to keep from erupting in
laughter.

The Hufflepuff girl tugged Draco's sleeve, "Draco, what's going on.  Who is
this?"

Draco sniggered violently, while Hermione stood in shock and horror, frozen
with fear and shame.

"This is Potter's favorite, Marcie, Hermione Granger.  A little less
pristine than we had all been led to believe, but what do you expect from a
mudblood."

The girl, Marcie, started giggling, "A mudblood?  What's she doing here?
You said you had a stash of treats here."

Draco couldn't take his eyes off the budding curves of Hermione's exposed
skin, "I had no idea."

Regaining her senses for a moment, Hermione stepped back and tried to slam
the door shut, but some force held it open.  Nothing she could do would
budge it, and the effort brought a stifled cackle from Malfoy.

"You're in Slitheryn territory now, Granger.  We always get right of way
down here."

"Get out of here Malfoy," Hermione stammered, "I'll tell McGonnegal."

"In that getup?  I don't think so."

Marcie was tugging at Malfoy's robes, "Draco, we'd better go."

Draco didn't look away from Hermione for a second, "Go then.  I'm going to
have some fun."  Grinning he advanced on Hermione, who retreated, terrified
into the room.

"Draco."

Malfoy turned on the small second year, "Stay or go.  It's your choice.
Come on.  We can have fun with the smartest girl in school."

Hermione barked, "Draco, I'm warning you."

Draco turned back to Hermione, his eyes aglow, his words like honey, "Why
don't you have a seat on the bed, and I'll light a fire."

Like a mist had fallen over her, Hermione found her willpower slipping.  It
seemed the most comfortable thing in the world, that luxurious bed.  She
felt the edges of a smile creeping onto her lips, and she turned, and took a
step towards the bed.

But she felt something wrong.  She knew there was something going on in her
head, but a fire sounded so good, and that bed looked so inviting.

A hand touched her, just above the hip, on the open flesh under the corset,
"It's all right, Hermione," she heard Draco's honey voice in her ear, his
hot breath on her neck, his hand sliding down, slipping easily under the
gauzy fabric that covered her backside, fingertips running along the curve
of her cheek, "You're not half bad for a mudblood."

But the veil seemed to shatter over her.  Suddenly she realized what was
happening, a suggestion spell, a trigger word, or phrase, not true
mind-control, just enough to influence.  Professor Moody had taught them how
to fight this.

But she almost wished he hadn't.  Here she was, barely dressed, alone with
Draco Malfoy, his hand in her underwear, a fingertip grazing over her most
private place, and to make things worse, heat seemed to course through her
entire body from his fingertips, the heat where he touched her was
unbearable.

Draco seemed to realize this, and she felt his exploration hesitate, "What's
the matter, Granger?  Afraid you might like it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about?" she knew she was in control, but
she still didn't move.  Her pride was fighting inside of her to prove that
he didn't effect her, although she wanted desperately to scream, to slap his
hand away, and run-run far away and hide herself, forever and ever.

"I'm talking about this," and he gave her a little squeeze, a brief surge of
pressure, and heat!  Another hand crept its way up the side of her corset,
lingering over her breast. "Heh, Marcie's only a second year, but she's got
more than you."

"She does not!"  Hermione was irrationally defensive, but it irked her to be
put second place to this Hufflepuff girl who could sink low enough to sneak
out with Malfoy.

"Yeah she does, Show her Marcie."

"Draco!"  Marcie was still lingering back in the doorway.  "I can't!"

"Of course you can."  His lips still touched Hermione's ear, sending shivers
down her spine, the long forgotten tingle nuzzling at her neck, but she felt
far from the sense of elation she had felt before, Draco touching her this
way, not knowing how far she should fight him on this.

Draco went on, "Why don't you light the fire, Marcie, and get comfortable."

Marcie moved over to the fireplace, and cast a simple firespell.  Warm,
golden light flooded the room, its fierce heat bathing Hermione, masking,
for just a moment the place where Draco had his hand.

"Marcie," Draco went on, "Aren't you hot in all that?"

Hermione recognized the suggestion in the voice, she almost felt the magic
inside her and the heat under the corset, telling her to take it off, but
she felt no compulsion this time, knowing that trick.  Marcie however was
unlacing her gown.

"You're right, Draco, I am."

Hermione grinned, "Stupid Hufflepuff" she thought, "Falling for a simple
spell like that."

Marcie slipped out of her gown, and Hermione saw that Draco had been right.
No mere training bra, like she wore, this second-year wore a B-cup, her
chest seeming out of proportion for her petite size.

"Weren't you going to show Hermione that I'm right, Marcie." Draco uttered,
his every work like honey, his hand crept down an inch, probing in between
Hermione's narrow thighs.

"Cut it out."  Hermione mumbled, not wanting to interrupt the mesmerized
girl in front of her as she slipped out of her bra, revealing perky but
sizeable and rounded, adolescent breasts with very tiny nipples that
Hermione could not help but envy.  The exact opposite of her chest.

"Why don't you admit you're enjoying it Granger?"

And splinters of heat shot up through her legs, her whole body trying
desperately to shudder, held in place only by Hermione's will.  She turned
to her molester, feeling only slightly comforted now that the other girl in
the room had on less than she did.

She saw Malfoy's mouth open and close on hers, felt his hot breath and cold,
narrow lips embrace her mouth.  She turned away, but not before she felt his
lips curl up in a smile, and he gave another good squeeze, and up above a
finger slipped under the corset, jammed next to her nipple, which exploded
in fire.

She gasped, a panting, raspy voice came out of her, "I'm not.  This doesn't
have any effect on me."  If she couldn't resist this what use would it be to
fight off magic.  She knew she had to prove she could fight it, but it was
everything she could do to keep from bucking and heaving, much less control
the panting and the heat under her skin where Draco was touching her.

"Draco," Marcie chimed in weakly, "I thought you were going to spend time
with me." she now had her arms crossed uncomfortably under her chest,
exaggerating the off-balance that her top-heaviness seemed to create thanks
to her slender legs and waist, and complete lack of hips.

The distraction brought Hermione back from the brink, and the panting
subsided, the heat curled away and she smugly felt that she had fought off
the worst of the magics in the room without giving in to Malfoy.

"In a minute, Marcie." Draco murmured, his hand prowling, somewhat clumsily,
Hermione thought, the downy fuzz that had spread across her sex in the past
couple of years, "Granger doesn't want me to stop, do you?" he added looking
at Hermione with a subtle jab up between the cleft of her lips.

Hermione couldn't help sucking deeply, wondering if she was wet down there,
like she got from time to time when she touched herself there, "Frankly
Draco, I couldn't care less."  She then turned on him, his hand popping out
of her corset, twisting so his arm stretched around her, pulling his fingers
away from her sex but not quite out of her panties.  "And if you're
finished, I'd just assume you take your little strumpet and get out of
 here."

Malfoy's mouth fell open, and he found himself instinctively pulling his
hand out of Hermione's panties, hesitating only before taking a step back,
instead keeping his face next to hers, almost kissing her.

"Don't pretend you don't enjoy it." Then glancing at Marcie who was staring
intently at them from across the room, he added in a low voice, "The magic
in this room won't affect someone who doesn't want it."

Hermione responded, in the same low, voice, moving the bare fraction of an
inch between them closer to his face, "Then I expect that that's why it's
not having an effect on me."

Malfoy scowled, then let a grin creep across his frown, "If you don't want
it then nothing I do will have an effect on you."

Hermione sensed a trap in his words.  Knew he was setting her up for
something, and her insides churned with apprehension, but she had gone so
far already she knew fiercely that if she backed down that Draco would
believe he was right.  "You don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"Oh don't I?"  Draco challenged, "Care to prove it?"

"Oh, you'd just love that wouldn't you Malfoy."

"Draco," Marcie chimed in, "What's going on?  Can I put my gown back on, it'
s very cold in here."

Draco ignored the shivering twelve year old, "I admit I'd love to make you
put your words where your mouth is.  Admit it!" he barked, bumping her with
his chest, "You love to talk and show off in class, but when the snap goes
down you can't seem to hit the center."

Hermione took a sudden step away from Malfoy, thinking, "I can't let him
trick me on this.  I know he's up to something, but if I don't rise to his
challenge he'll think he had me.  How could I ever face him in classes
afterwards."

She turned back to him, her back against the blazing fire which bathed her
backside in heat, outlining her slender body in a way that exaggerated all
of her budding femininity, "What are you proposing, Draco?"

Draco, clearly taken by the figure she presented before the roaring fire
hesitated as he looked her over.  Hermione, suddenly conscious of the state
of her dress-that Malfoy was the only person in the room fully dressed felt
her nerve slipping.  She felt her panties, loose on her hips, but resisted
an urge to hike them up from where they had been pushed down, "by his hand."
The thought of his hand on her, under her panties, in between her legs made
her stomach sink, hot, and turning, she realized how deeply he had invaded
her.  How much peril she was in, she and the Hufflepuff girl.

"A bet" Malfoy uttered, leering at her.

Hermione scowled, her nerve shaking, forming the words to spit in his face,
when Marcie burst out, "I wish my nipples were as big as yours.  Yours are
much prettier."

Hermione froze, Draco, looking at the second year and following her gaze to
Hermione burst out laughing.  Hermione's breast was peeking out, for all its
small size, crammed up by the corset, and her puffy nipple was sticking out
over the top.  She remembered Malfoy's finger in there, her sudden turn, and
tried clumsily to shove it back down.

"Want some help with that?" Draco muttered, the melodious overtones
assimilating his voice.

"Stay back." Hermione barked at his advance.

"What are you afraid of, Granger?"

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Too afraid to make a bet?"

Hermione scowled at him, shivering in spite of the heat of the fire, the
warmth of the invisible robe. "I'm not afraid.  What is this stupid bet
anyway?" she spun around, hiking up the panties, and tucking her nipple
away, wishing she could run to the wardrobe for her school robes without
looking afraid.

"Simple.  I bet I can prove that you like it" he took a step up to her,
wrapping his arm around her waist, pushing himself up against her.  Hermione
felt something hard poking her in the backside.

"And how are you going to prove that?" she asked, forcing herself not to
flinch, trying to steel herself to stop shaking.

She felt his lips on her ear, "You'll tell me I'm right."

"That's it?" Hermione thought.  "That's too easy.  There must be a trap."

"And what happens when I win?" she said fighting the urge to slap his hand
which was creeping past her bellybutton.

"I take the crecious curse so I can never tell anyone."

That struck home, hard.  Malfoy would assuredly run out and tell every
Slitheryn what had happened, and she knew she could never live with the
shame of that.  Trap or not, she knew then and there that she would have to
play along.

She put a hand over his just as it was about to slip down the front of her
panties, "And what happens, hypothetically speaking, if I lose."

Malfoy smiled.  He knew exactly where he had Hermione.  "That's just part of
the bet, isn't it Granger?"  He flicked his wrist and she moved her hand,
chastised, and dexterously slipped his hand into her panties.  You lose just
by agreeing to the bet.

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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